


One Wish

by sageclover61



Series: Bard Assassin [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Djinni & Genies, Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageclover61/pseuds/sageclover61
Summary: Jaskier needs the hail mary of a Djinn in a bottle. Geralt gets there first and mischief ensues.Yennefer has so many questions.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Bard Assassin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623745
Comments: 12
Kudos: 727





	One Wish

Jaskier needed a genie in a bottle. Having grown up listening to fairy tales and then living in Oxenfurt with both an incredibly large collection of tomes as well as centuries worth of oral tradition in his head, he was pretty sure they had to be real. He was also convinced that it was the only thing that could fix his problem.

He didn’t want to have to go back to Oxenfurt and pick up more contracts. He wanted to go back to being by his Witcher’s side, listening to what few stories he told of his adventures as well as getting his own first hand account of Geralt’s feats at monster slaying and curse breaking. He’d missed the last  _ three  _ Striga adventures because his masters always picked the most inopportune occasions for requiring his presence in Oxenfurt with a stack of contracts he had the choice of taking lest he finally be counted as a rogue with a contract on his own head.

With the way things were going, there was no way he would survive the next three decades without finally being declared as a rogue to the proud organization of bardling assassins. Much as Geralt had described for Witchers, the assassin’s guild also didn’t offer a retirement plan. More often than not, upcoming assassins were assigned the task of disposing with their colleagues judged to be no longer worthy of their long life.

This bard no longer wanted anything to do with either the association or the grim future it held. Assassinating murderers and rapists was all well and good for his spare coin, but his favorite guise as a famous bard was finally paying well enough after an evening in a tavern that he would probably never  _ need  _ the coin from another contract ever again.

Most people were happy to pay to hear songs of the White Wolf and his many feats, and Jaskier was happy with that.

So, that meant he had to find a djinn’s bottle or he’d never be free of the legacy he never should have had anything to do with.

And then he ran into Geralt, who was throwing a fishing net into the river  _ he  _ was supposed to be searching for a long lost djinn bottle.

“What are you fishing for, exactly?” With his luck, Geralt was also here for the djinn. But he wasn’t supposed to know about it, couldn’t tell the Witcher why  _ he  _ needed it. Geralt would use the wishes himself, and he’d never be free of the guild. In the end, they would hunt him down as a message to the rest of their colleagues about what would happen if anyone else was to turn their back on the way of their kind. 

“Is it cod? Carp? Pike? Bream? I’m just- I’m just listing fish that I know. Zander? Is that a fish?” Why had he chosen the guise of such a rambling guise? Was it conveying his nervousness? He sure hoped not, he needed that  _ fucking  _ djinn in a bottle. But he couldn’t very well demand that the Witcher leave him.

Sure, it was hard to say how long they’d been apart doing their own things, but the parting had been entirely amicable and he  _ had  _ missed sharing his bedroll.

“I’m not fishing.”

Of course Geralt wasn’t fishing. That would be  _ too fucking easy. _

“I can’t sleep.”

“Right. Good.” Why would anyone decide a djinn in a bottle was the right course of action to solve sleeplessness? Of course, if anyone was going to pick a desperate measure, Geralt would pick that one. The same one he needed to alter the entire course of his future.

Destiny. Right. There weren’t very many things that could completely alter that, but a djinn would do the trick if one just knew the right words to say.

For all that he could wish to have never been to Oxenfurt, that wasn’t what he wanted. Or needed. Having met the Witcher and gotten to know him better than anyone else ever had, dying at the hand of his colleagues would be worth it. If that was to be his fate… Maybe he didn’t need the djinn in a bottle.

“Well, that-- makes sense. Insomuch as it sort of… doesn’t. What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me.” Anything, anything at all would be bettert than standing here on the banks of the stupid lake, watching Geralt throwing the stupid net with a rashness of a hunted man.

Was that how he’d be? In the end? As his demise drew near and he had no way of stopping or preventing it? What could one do against the entire might of the assassin’s guild? If only it was sleeplessness that had afflicted him so permanently.

Jaskier didn’t think that Geralt was going to answer him, the Witcher had never been inclined to say what he was thinking at the best of times. There hadn’t even been a real greeting now that they were here on the banks.

Perhaps his murky memory of a whispered affection in the forest outside of Cintra had been nothing but a fever dream. Perhaps all they’d ever had was sex, and nothing more.

And then Geralt spoke two little words that almost broke his heart. “A djinn.”

“A what?”

“I’m looking for a djinn. It’ll grant me wishes. It’s in this lake somewhere and I can’t fucking sleep!”

Jaskier took a step back. Not in fear, just… surprise. Geralt usually needed more prodding than this for a single explanation, and here he was shouting it at him.

Maybe he should just walk away. Geralt clearly needed the sleep more than he needed anything else, and it wasn’t like he was at the end of his noose yet. There was still  _ time _ .

And yet there was never enough of it.

Geralt was reeling in the oddest thing from the lake, and that was when it hit him. There was nothing for it. He needed the djinn bottle. Geralt could have all the rest of the wishes, but he needed the first one, but then they were fighting over it and once the lid came off, the amphora was being shattered on the ground.

“No more assassins’ guild,” he tried to choke out, except he couldn’t speak. No words came from his throat.

And then he was choking and gasping for breath, and Geralt was muttering something  _ stupid  _ about how all he’d wanted was peace, but that this wasn’t it.

Jaskier wondered if his personification of the annoying extroverted bard had been a bit much, and that maybe he should have worried about Geralt going to extreme measures for peace away from him.

That he was coughing up blood was the significantly more pressing issue, and he found himself shocked as Geralt went so far as to help him up onto his horse before urging her into a gallop in the direction of the nearest town.

Perhaps Geralt cared about him after all.

* * *

Jaskier awoke in a sorceress’s bed, and he had no idea who she was, but she introduced herself as Yennefer of Vengerberg.

“So, why would an assassin bardling be traveling and making friends with a Witcher of all people? He clearly has no idea who or what you are, and yet his incredibly cold exterior suggests that you must have known him a long time or he wouldn’t treat you with such warm regard by comparison.”

“A decade and a half,” Jaskier admitted. “They’ve been good years. More than I’d expected to get, not half as many as I want.”

She laughed. It wasn’t quite mocking, but it was close. “You’re hopelessly in love with him. Aren’t you?” She laughed harder. “And he with you, but he’s so hopelessly out of tune with his feelings that he hasn’t even realized it yet, let alone expressed himself.”

“He said it once,” Jaskier defended. And what did he need with declarations of love? Every person he’d ever slept with had professed their love for him, some to the point where he’d almost prefer to deafen himself than listen to even one more insincere screech.

The worst of course was when he seduced his target or they seduced him, and he killed them in their beds while they slept, believing themselves to have never in their lives been safer.

Then there were the few in the very beginning, when he was tasked to learn absolutely every little detail about them over the course of months or even a full year, before finally killing them.

He’d finished one of those mere weeks before running into Geralt, and he’d allowed himself a few musings, in the beginning, if Geralt was there to kill him because he was a monster for that. But Geralt didn’t know, probably wouldn’t have let it slide for 16 years if he had.

“Jaskier, has he been... Treating you alright?”

Jaskier shrugged. “The sex is great and I enjoy his companionship more than anyone else’s. He’s the quiet, broody type, but I do more than enough talking for the both of us.”

“And how did you end up like this? Is this not a fitting way to silence someone who talks too much?”

“Shut up,” Jaskier growled. “I did this to myself, thinking  _ I  _ could use a djinn in a bottle.” He sighed. “What was I thinking? Genies always bring about the wishes in the most inconvenient way. I can’t wish for an end to the assassin’s guild, with my luck I would perish for being one of them.”

“And what did the Witcher want with a djinn?”

“He said he wanted a cure for insomnia. We were fighting over the bottle, and then the lid came off and the amphora shattered. I tried to make my wish, but I couldn’t speak. But Geralt didn’t say anything, didn’t make any wishes either. Certainly not any that would have led to  _ that _ .”

“Did he wish for peace?”

“He didn’t make any wishes. He was screaming afterwards, something about this ‘not being the peace that he wanted’ but there were no wishes. Why do you care so much? You don’t know me, or Geralt. He brought me here, didn’t he? You seem to think he dislikes me, but he wouldn’t have brought me here if he hated me. The attack wouldn’t have killed me, but I never would have sung again.” He stood up. “Where is he?”

“Down the hall, third room on the right.”

He nodded, and walked out the bedroom door to the room she had said Geralt would be in. “Geralt!” he exclaimed, seeing that Geralt was awake and meditating on the bed in the room. “Thank you, gods.”

“Jaskier, you're okay,” Geralt said, standing and crossing the room to pull the bard into a hug. “Aren’t you?” he asked, shifting to get a better look at him.

Jaskier nodded, smiling as Geralt kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry about the djinn,” he said. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“I’m glad it didn’t hurt you any worse, although it shouldn’t have hurt you at all. It should hopefully be gone now though, trapped djinn are dangerous because they want only to be free.”

“What about your insomnia?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hummed. “I should have known better than to try for a djinn. That would be like destroying an entire city to kill a single insect.”

“I might have some ideas for remedies.” Jaskier could think of some fun ways he had helped get Geralt to sleep in the past, and it had been awhile since he’d been around to share his bedroll.

“I’ll take my payment for saving the bard’s life now, Witcher,” the sorceress interrupted.

“Yennefer.” Geralt’s tone was coarse, unpleased that she was interrupting them right now.

“Now now. All I want, Geralt, is for you to buy me, and Jaskier, lunch at the tavern. Afterwards, you’re both free to leave and continue on your adventures, no further debt owed to me.”

* * *

Lunch was a tense affair.

Jaskier sat so close to Geralt it was almost indecent, and for once in his life he wasn't trying to carry the conversation for everyone.

Yennefer asked more questions than the other two, but Geralt "hmmed" and "fucked" his way through most of them, as was normal for him, and Jaskier seemed pretty uninclined to talk about himself.

Finally, as they were almost done clearing their plates, Yennefer said. “Triss Marigold told me she convinced a Witcher, none other than the White Wolf, to cure a Princess Striga. Foltest’s daughter, I believe.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened brightly. “Oh, please, Geralt! Please tell that story!”

Geralt gave an almost smile. “I was passing into Temeria, where I heard a rumor from a certain someone that a Witcher had run off with three thousand Orens, without handling the creature killing the miners. They thought it was a vokodlak. But no, Triss wanted me to examine the bodies, and I determined that they had been killed by a Striga. And I had to keep her, out of her crypt, until the fucking rooster crowed three fucking times. Just because some fucking idiot decided to curse Foltest for wanting to fuck his sister and it killed her. The Princess gets to live with that for the rest of her life.”

“At least the princess is alive,” Yennefer stated. “Triss was very fucking pleased about that outcome. I’ve heard that you’ve cured a few more since then.”

The Witcher nodded. “They don’t deserve their fate. Turned into monsters because someone decided someone else needed to pay, usually for fucking the wrong person. They’re all just… little girls. Three, four year olds, who’ve felt nothing but hunger and hatred.”

“And yet we’re the ones they think are monsters.” She pushed her mostly empty plate away from her. “Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier.” And with that, she was gone.

* * *

Jaskier wasn’t sure why he was still awake, sated and happy as he was, lying beside his Witcher in the bedroll they were still sharing. The night sky had not a single cloud to mar the bright constellations decorating it. He couldn’t tell whether or not Geralt was asleep, but it didn’t matter. He was  _ sure  _ the Witcher would sleep well tonight.

“What wish were you going to make?” Geralt asked, suddenly, out of nowhere.

He sighed, wondering if he could pass himself off as sleeping to avoid the one question he didn’t want to answer for the Witcher. The truth would lead to so many further questions and revelations he wasn’t ready to share with Geralt yet. For all the Yennefer had seemed to be asking too many leading questions about the health of their relationship, he really did enjoy this one. And Geralt didn’t seem to care, either.

The Witcher didn’t press further, but Jaskier knew that there was no way he was passing himself off as asleep, not now. Not with the Witcher’s supernatural senses. “I panicked, thinking my past might come back to haunt me and I was prepared to wish it all away. But it would be like putting salve on a tumor. Besides, the wording would be too important. I’ve heard that djinn are notorious for filling their wishes in the most harmful way they can.”

“You’re a bard.”

Jaskier could hear the unspoken suggestion that he had a way with words in what Geralt said. It was a reminder that he had gotten to know the Witcher well in the last decade and a half. The sorceress just couldn’t understand that. “I’m still glad I didn’t do it.” He shifted, pressing a kiss Geralt’s neck. “Another round?”

“My insatiable bard,” the Witcher said by way of agreement.

There was no  _ “I love you”  _ but Jaskier didn’t need to hear the words to know what sentiment the Witcher meant.

**Author's Note:**

> The end goal pairing for this is Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer. I skimmed the short story that involves Geralt and Dandelion and the djinn and it was absolutely amazing, so I took some liberties with the writing of that scene because I didn't want it to be Geralt misusing his words, and it shouldn't be that.
> 
> Yes, one wish was actually made. Nobody knows about it, and the djinn won't be returning. It's free and gone now.
> 
> Please come scream at me on Tumblr! I'm sageclover61 there too.


End file.
